The Masked Claim

~ANORA~“I, Alpha Rorik Ashwood, of the Crimson Moon Pack, hereby sentence you, Anora Myers, to death by beheading. The execution shall be carried out in three nights’ time, under the full moon!”Rorik’s voice doesn’t just ring through the hall; it roars, vibrating in the very stone floors beneath my knees.For a heartbeat, there is silence. Then, the room explodes. Cheers and howls of approval erupt from the pack members lining the walls, people who, only weeks ago, bowed their heads in my presence.“Furthermore,” Rorik continues, his voice cutting through the frenzy like a blunt blade, “you shall receive twenty lashes of the silver whip every day in the pack square until your final hour. That is my verdict.”“Rorik, please! I’m innocent!” My voice is thin, cracked from hours of screaming. I lunge forward, my shackles rattling against the stone. “I didn’t do it! You know I couldn’t!”But Rorik isn’t looking at me. His face is a mask of stone as he presses his signet ring into the hot

~ANORA~ I ride aimlessly through the woods, putting as much distance as I can between myself and the Crimson Moon Pack. My heart feels as if it has been ripped into tiny pieces, with each beat repeating the image I cannot escape: Rorik and Lindis tangled together, his hands on her, his mouth claiming who was once my good friend. Their words loop endlessly in my mind. Don’t you dare hurt my mate! I sob louder, the sound lost to the roar of the wind. Eventually, I find myself back in front of the Moon Shadow packhouse, where the Grand Masked Feast is in full swing; music and laughter spill out into the night. I can’t explain why my furious ride leads me back here, but I crave the noise. I need the chaos of the ball to drown out the pain clawing inside my chest. I sit upon my horse for a long time, hands gripping the reins until my palms ache, unable to decide whether to go in or ride straight into the nearest river. It feels as if a blunt knife is being driven into my chest over